


Reason lost the battle

by liebling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Reichenbach, Protectiveness, but secretly loving it, john watson hating it, sherlock being clingy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:35:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liebling/pseuds/liebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock simply followed him everywhere.</p><p>Everywhere.</p><p>It was nice when John was in bed, or eating, but the novelty wore off when he was at the surgery or in the bathroom. John had locked the door once, just to have a minute to himself, and Sherlock broke it down. Well, long story short; the new door was expensive, Mrs. Hudson was angry, and John resigned to leaving the door open.</p><p> </p><p>John Watson needed saving. He really did. </p><p>Well that's Sherlock's job, isn't it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It is my arse and not yours.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give all my love and hugs to the mighty sassybleu. She makes my writing worth reading and listens to me rant about movies I don't like for hours.

"John...John...John Watson where are you?"

 _God that man is going crazy; crazier than normal that is. Was that that possible?_ If you'd asked John a month ago, and he would have called you crazy; but now he wasn't quite so sure. Things had changed, and now he wasn't very sure about how to cope with them.

"John answer me or I’ll come there myself."

"Yes! Sherlock I’m coming! Stop shouting." He replied angrily.

Example one; Sherlock used to call once and then wait for five minutes before shouting again(he couldn’t believe it himself). But these days...there was no waiting. Whenever Sherlock wanted John, John had better well be there fast.

Actually, these days worked in reverse as well; Sherlock had to be wherever John was, at Sherlock's choice of course. If John was in the kitchen, he had to be in there too. And if John didn't lead Sherlock, well then, Sherlock simply followed him everywhere.

It was nice when John was in bed, or eating, but the novelty wore off when he was at the surgery or in the bathroom. John had locked the door once, just to have a minute to himself, and Sherlock broke it down. Well, long story short; the new door was expensive, Mrs. Hudson was angry, and John resigned to leaving the door open.

When John came down the steps swiftly, he saw Sherlock standing by the door, ready to go and waiting, with an odd look on his face; a mixture of worry, frustration, and confusion, all wrapped up into one.

He sighed. _Maybe I'm being too harsh on Sherlock. It's inconvenient, yeah. But not frustratingly so._

With everything set and ready to go, he decided to ignore it, and go easy on Sherlock, even through whatever his deal was at the moment.

                                                                                         ***

Arriving at the crime scene, John already regretted his decision to go easy on Sherlock, and his patience was being tried.

He just couldn't understand what the detective’s problem was. Although he'd been unusually clingy for a while now, they still usually sat on opposite ends of the taxi; John watching the city buildings pass and Sherlock texting on his phone.

For some reason, today, Sherlock had sat as close as he could in the cab, and would've been on his lap if the man hadn't stopped him, luckily, the soldier was able to keep Sherlock at bay by letting him rest his head on his shoulder. And John, because he loved the idiot, and if he was being honest with himself, loved to do it too, petted Sherlock on his head, running his finger through Sherlock’s gorgeous hair.

And that was the shocker; nobody would ever call Sherlock a tactile person, but these days he was. And it wasn't that john disliked it, far from it, he just wanted to know what caused all of it, and how long _it_ would last.

John sighed when saw heard Sherlock’s baritone voice pulling him from is reverie, which was currently spewing insults at Donovan.

"Sherlock, calm down; Lestrade will control her." John said soothingly to the detective.

“Don’t be an idiot, John.”Came the snarky reply. _At least some things are still the same,_ he thought glumly as Sherlock continued,

"She is present, therefore she will try to proposition you, I am trying to ensure that that does not happen."

“Why would she do that?”

"Because she has a special attraction to military men, and she also happens to like your body. Have you not observed that whenever you bend, or walk, she always looks at your arse?" he paused, "I am simply trying to show her that your arse is mine, John. Along with the fact that you are mine. Since she is so dimwitted as to not be able to comprehend that, she needs to leave." Turning on his heel, the madman stalked away.

 _That's new,_ he thought. Sherlock was many things, but jealous had never been one of them.

Shaking his head to clear it, John went to stand next to Sherlock, who was already kneeling by to the body.

"Even you could have solved this, Lestrade. Do you feel the need get my approval? Honestly, Graham...The brother did it."  Sherlock exasperated.

"Which brother?” Lestrade questioned.

"Obviously, the one who is in love with the victim’s fiancée. The man was hoping that by killing him he would be free to pursue the woman. However, the brother realized beforehand and confronted him. That’s when he was shot."

“How could you possibly know this, freak? John, what do you think of all this? You know, Watson may believe anything you say; but then I guess he must be a freak like you.” _When will Donovan learn that she should just keep quiet?_ John thought.

Sherlock stood up from where he was kneeling and glared at her .Donovan seemed to notice the particular harshness in his gaze today. What was usually the _you are an_ idiot glare, today, came across as _I am a genius, and a sociopath, and I will make sure your body is never found_ kind of look.

“Sergeant Donovan, I know these facts because I unlike you, I _observe_. This is the dead man’s phone.” He raised a hand to show the mobile,”Every deduction I've made can be proven from it.”

"Oh! The phone! Of course! Forgive me, how could I be such an idiot? Please tell me, was it the type of phone, or the scratches on the back?" She asked sarcastically.

“Actually, Sally, it was the text messages exchanged between victim and his fiancée. The rest was simple logic; but I suppose it is my fault to expect you to know how to do your job.”

Turning to Lestrade, he thrust the phone at him and left without another word.

And as usual, John followed.

                                                                                ****

It was a week later when it happened.

John and Sherlock were at a crime scene; Sherlock jumping around here and there to gather clues and John standing off to the side, chatting with Lestrade.

Suddenly, Sherlock gave a triumphant shout and a yelled "John!" before running off after someone, presumably the murderer, into an alley nearby.

So John followed, not because John Watson is a follower, but because John Watson follows _Sherlock_.

Entering the alley, John heard loud step slapping against creaky floorboards, and realized that they had entered a building through a backdoor.

Retrieving his pistol from the waistband of his trousers, John gripped it tight, and followed the noise.

Following the noise, he finds himself on the second floor of an old, abandoned office building. Scanning the area ahead of him, John locates Sherlock talking with the murderer, back pressed against the wall.

Silently sneaking around a file cabinet to get a better view, John saw that the murderer had a gun pointed at Sherlock, and his voice gave away his panic, while the arm outstretched with the gun shook slightly.

But what really bothered John was the man's twitchy trigger finger; the digit fidgeting on the small, black, trigger.

And he saw the man raise his other arm to steady the gun, and took a step forward, John raised his own weapon, and stepped forward, ready to negotiate a peaceful capture when he heard it.

The shot rang out and he felt a searing pain near his ribs. Falling to the ground, he lay there gasping in pain.

_God! I forgot how much it hurts being shot..._

Distantly, he hears the sound of two bodies colliding, and open his eyes to focus on the sound while laying on his side, clutching at his wound.

Sherlock was punching the man with a viciousness that John had not thought he was capable of.

"Sherlock,” he croaked as loudly as he could, “Sherlock, stop. Please...”

Sherlock came to his senses and left the crumpled body on the floor, stalking towards John with incredible speed. His face was paler than usual, and his hands were trembling; tears glossing in his eyes. After hastily unwrapping his scarf from his neck, he pressed it carefully on John’s wound to stop the blood loss.

"It’s a bit not good.”

Sherlock huffed out a strained laugh,

"No, it's a bit not good...John don't die. Don’t die. Don’t leave me."

Through his haze, John heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards them.

"Christ! Donovan, call the paramedics!" Lestrade shouted out.

His side hurt but he found that he didn't mind it as much as he ought to.

 _Anything to save my madman,_ he thought.

And when the thought finished, he fainted.

 


	2. When mountains can't be moved, you have to walk around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can't be all fun and games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long. But i wanted to type this chapter on my new laptop, which I did. Yay!
> 
> All my thanks to sassybleu, my lovely beta. Where would I be without you.

Sherlock Holmes was an idiot. Bigger idiot than Donovan; even bigger than Anderson. Sherlock broke the only rule he had ever made for himself, not to feel. Love was not an advantage; caring was a mistake. Yet somehow, even with his precautions, he made the mistake anyway. Idiot.

Sherlock Holmes fell in love with a man named John.

 _John Watson,_ the name alone could bring him to a smile.

He still remembered when he first saw him. His eyes reading facts about the curious little man towards him: military stance, a psychosomatic limp and a phone from an alcoholic brother. That was his first mistake regarding John Watson.

He was looking for a roommate; not to share the rent, but to get Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson off his back. Both of them wanted him to have something like a friend to keep him clean. So he told his dilemma to Mike Stamford, hoping that Stamford would find person who was unassuming and indifferent, someone bearable to live with and who would put up with him. Someone who would hopefully have no problem with body parts in the fridge, and experiments on the table. Above all, someone who would not complain incessantly about small, trivial things.

When he first saw John Watson, he thought that the man would be perfect for him; someone he could dominate and rule over.

This was his second mistake when it came to John Watson. Thinking that John couldn't impact his life.

It turned out that John was perfect for him; he mostly did not mind the body parts, and the experiments he left untouched, and he hardly ever complained.

But what Sherlock hadn't accounted for was that John was not unassuming, and he couldn't and _wouldn't_ be dominated. Actually, for the most part, he dominated Sherlock; whether it was forcing him to eat, sleep, or be polite to others.

But how could he have ever known that the small man with a cane would be his undoing?

And that he would be happy about it?

Nevertheless, he wasn't happy now. Sitting at the hospital in a plastic chair covered in John’s blood, so much blood.

His mind began reeling; he never should have kissed John. He should have never have told John that he loved him. He should have never let himself get to the point where a five minute separation seemed like a knife to the chest.

That was probably his biggest mistake.

As he sat there waiting for John to come out of surgery, he thought about his options. The most repeated thoughts were of the things he could do to make sure that John was never hurt again. Was never in a hospital again. All were simple precautions so that he would never have to relive the fear of losing John forever.

Sherlock made a mistake, but he would soon fix it; no matter the cost.

                                                                                                                                               *****     

When John finally woke up after being unconscious for six hours, Sherlock felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears.

There was a huge difference between John when he was asleep, and when he was unconscious. When John was asleep he was soft, and looked young; he looked as if everything was alright in the world. When John was unconscious, it was a nightmare come true for Sherlock; he looked so small and pale. If it weren’t for the beeping of the machines, Sherlock would have lost his mind.

He moved closer to the bed, clutching the railing so tight that his knuckles were white. John still looked small and pale, but at least he was alive and awake.

When John opened his eyes and oriented himself, and then found Sherlock in the room, he gave a small smile and said, “Sorry for the scare, love."

And that statement made Sherlock furious. John should be shouting for him to leave, not calling him 'love'.

"Why are you sorry? What did you do? Tell me, did you almost kill the one person you love the most? Are you covered in my blood? You have no reason to be sorry John, it is entirely my fault."

"What are you talking about? Why is it your fault? I jumped in front of the bullet. It's no one’s fault except the shooters." John rasped. Sherlock hurried to get him some water, and cursed himself for making John exert himself so soon after surgery. Could he do no right by the man?

"Sleep, John. We’ll talk later when you feel better."

"No we will talk about this now. Tell me what's wrong, and I'll fix it. I will, just tell me Sherlock. You know it wasn't your fault. You didn’t put me in danger." John spoke softly and all Sherlock could think about was the memory of John's wound gushing blood and his mouth gasping for breath.

"I _did_ put you in danger. I put you in danger all the time; because of me you have been strapped with a bomb and threatened with a gun. Because of me you’ve been kidnapped. And it's all because I am love with you. I don't know why you are even with me."

"John; I chased away all your girlfriends and dates because I was jealous of them, and I didn’t want them to have any part of you. But when Moriarty came, I forgot about everything except the game. I was having more fun playing than I do on cases. The only reason that he and I not on the same side is because he threatened you. And _nobody_ threatens you. And then _The Woman_ came and I ignored you again, and not just for a few days, but for months, John. She and the game were all I thought about; and you hardly crossed my mind when I was so engaged.

"I’m horrible for you, and there is no reason for us to be together. You should leave. I would leave myself, but I don’t have the willpower. But if you leave, I won’t stop you. John, please leave. Then you'll be safe, and I won’t be there to put you in danger."

Sherlock was looking down to the ground, trying not to imagine a world where John was no longer his.

Suddenly in the silence, a voice filled with anger rang out, “Are you an idiot? You must be. Why would I leave? And why would you?"  John panted, clearly angry, but too weak to do anything about it.

Sherlock could only stare, still not understanding how John could want to stay with him. Unfortunately, some of his disbelief must have showed on his face, because John softened and spoke again,

"Sherlock I love you, I do. And as far as Moriarty and The Woman are concerned, yes, you did ignore me, and yes I was hurt by it. But you chose me, and you continue to do so. You could have left with Moriarty, but you didn’t. You gave up the chance leading criminal mastermind to be with me. And Adler was the same; you were entranced by her, but you still came back to me. That's what's important here, that you chose me, and not them; and that you continue to choose _me,_ everyday.

John took a deep breath; he looked troubled by the notion of anyone leaving. Sherlock didn’t want to lose John, and he didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It would hurt worse than any pain he'd ever endured, but he'd anything to keep John safe.

"Sherlock, I chose this and I choose you too. I knew it was dangerous from the beginning, but that's why I love you. You brought me back to life; I was so close to giving up, but then I met you, and you asked me to accompany you to a crime scene, and everything changed. I was beginning to follow a madman through London, and I had never felt better.

"You're crazy, and you shoot at walls when you're bored, and you keep heads in the fridge, but I love you; and I will never leave you. And I don’t seriously think you want me to leave either, so I'll stay here, and we'll take care of each other, no matter what. Is that clear?"

John looked at Sherlock hopefully, clearly wanting to put this all past them, burry it once and for all. John patted at the spot next to him as he lay back down, having risen up during his speech.

Sherlock went to his side, and gingerly climbed on the bed, laying down next to him while being mindful of his injuries. Moving carefully, he manoeuvred himself till he was touching John head to toe, with his arms lightly clasping him.

After the scare he had of losing John, it was a relief to be able to touch and hold him. It felt as though he was whole again.

"See?" John mumbled sleepily, “We fit together perfectly, so we'll just forget that whole thing."

"As you wish, John."

Sherlock knew John would hate him, but he had to do something to keep him safe. He had never even been able to use his most compelling argument. He didn't have the courage to tell John that Moriarty was back; and that war was inevitable. Since he found about it, Sherlock had been unable to leave John for more than five minutes, afraid that this time Moriarty would burn his heart out. He knew that Mycroft had a plan, but he hadn’t wanted to use it. But lying there, he was forced to accept the reality that it was his only hope.

What he was mostly afraid of was that if he left, John would find someone new. And while it was perfectly reasonable, it was also unacceptable.

The thought echoed in his mind, John Watson was his, and only his.  And Sherlock Holmes did not share.

But now circumstances were different, and he knew it was the only way. He’d rather have him alive and with someone else than dead.

His decision made him hug John tighter, knowing that their end was nearer.

While John was asleep, Sherlock sent Mycroft a text,

_Prepare for Plan Lazarus. SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it.


End file.
